


Give Me Hope.

by kingofchampions



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, At least I don't think it's super graphic, Cutting, I really shouldn't be allowed to tag things, I'm Sorry, M/M, Sad Harry, Self Harm, but Louis comes in and makes everything better, nothing super graphic, sad Harry becomes happy Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1269175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofchampions/pseuds/kingofchampions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles cut to rid himself of the pain; but then he found writing, and then he found Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Hope.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic; I hope you enjoy it! If you have any questions, any suggestions, want to recommend things to me, suggest something to write about, etc. feel free to send me an ask on Tumblr -- http://ghostinyoureyes.co.vu. I'm a super friendly person, I swear! I'd love if you just messaged me to talk, too, honestly.

The way the skin breaks so easily as the blade is drawn across his skin fascinates him.  The way the flesh separates, leaving room for the red liquid to bubble forth as the physical pain dulls his mind and senses to the emotional.  It's an escape, a break from the tears and the frustration, the hopelessness and desire to disappear.  It's the only thing that Harry Styles knows, the only way to rid himself of the pain he hasn't the first clue how to deal with.  He splits the skin, and lets the pain bleed out until he feels like nothing more than an empty shell.

Until he feels better again.

He can't pull his eyes away from the mirror, staring at his reflection -- he looks pathetic.  Sunken eyes, lacking any emotion and the sparkle they once held.  The skin seemed to cling to his bones, the muscle long gone; deteriorated from a lack of proper eating in an attempt to punish himself for not being good enough, for not being the son his mother wanted him to be.  Pale skin covered in meaningless tattoos purchased for no reason other than to cause himself physical pain when he was too terrified to draw the blade across his skin himself.  But his arms are now littered in scars, in scabs, in fresh cuts still dripping with blood.  Fingers wrapped tightly around the blade that the skin on his arms is more than acquainted with by now.  The blade demands, the skin complies, and the blood dripps slowly into the sink.  Despite the pain, despite the gasp he makes as he draws the blade across his skin one last time, he doesn't cry.

Dead men don't cry.

* * *

Maybe it's because they can see it in his eyes.  That had to be it, Harry figures -- they could see the hopelessness, the _deadness_ in his eyes.  No one wants to hire a dead boy.

So he gives up on trying to find a job, gives up on trying to save money for college, gives up on trying to make a better life for himself.  He withdraws from his friends, pulls away from his family, and refuses to come out of his room unless he needs to eat or use the washroom. The curly-haired boy that had a bright future is now a dishevelled mess with no happy ending in sight.

He's throwing his life away, but he can't find it within himself to care anymore.

* * *

He finds a website where people post stories; stories about whatever happiness to pop into their minds -- soul-mates, alternate universes, apocalypses, death, life, reincarnation, their favourite characters in their favourite band or TV show finally getting together even though it isn't considered canon.  The topics are endless, and Harry finds himself captivated by the words others write and decide to share on this site.  He finds himself connecting with the characters in the stories he reads, finds himself wishing these characters were real people that he knows and can help.  He wants to fix their problems, help them get the boy (or girl, or whatever), and it saddens him.

Because no one will ever help him with his problems, or help him get the girl.

* * *

Harry meets Louis by chance.

He finally works up the nerve to make an account on the site and start posting his own stories -- stories he uses as an emotional outlet so he won't cut so much.  He doesn't think his stories will get so many readers, that people will connect with his characters like he has.  Everyone seems to know Harry, under his username  _wanderlust_ , and everyone wants to talk to him -- tell him about how much they love his stories and his characters, about how he gets his ideas and how he executes them so amazingly.  They always end up asking for his opinion on their own stories sooner or later, or for a shout out in the notes of one of his stories, telling his readers to check their work out.  None of them really want to be friends; they just want to use Harry for his popularity, to gain popularity of their own.

But Louis just wants to write with him. He treats Harry like a normal person when they speak, and although Louis praises Harry's stories and characters, he never once asks Harry for a shout out or for feedback on his own writing.  He just wants to write a story with Harry, to stick their minds together and come up with ideas they can never have dreamed of on their own.  They initially keep in contact via an instant messaging service, but when Louis gets busy and can't be on the computer as much, they exchange numbers so it'll be easier to keep in contact, and Harry finds himself coming out of his room more often, sitting in the living room with his family while they watch a movie and he texts Louis.  It doesn't seem to be something of much significance, and no one in his family says anything, but it is a huge step; when Harry happens to look up and see his mother sitting in the chair, he can't help but notice the small smile on her face, the way that the tears form in the corners of her eyes.  He didn't know it was possible to make someone so happy by doing the smallest of things, but when he turns out his light that night and climbs into bed, his mother comes in to tuck him in for the first time in years, kisses his forehead, and tells him that she loves him.

The corner's of Harry's lips quiver as she walks out of his room, but he doesn't smile.

* * *

At first, they only speak about the story.  Harry's fine with that; sharing ideas and working out character details.  It's nice to get lost in the little world they've created, tossing ideas they have for the plot back and forth -- which character they would have reveal a plot twist, which characters would end up dating when no one even thought it could be a possibility.  They take turns writing chapters, constantly consulting one another and sending the unfinished product back and forth to make sure both are happy with it before it's finished and posted.  They gush to each other over the response their readers have, the following they gain, the number of times the story is favourited.  They go over what feels like hundreds of different endings before finally deciding on one, and as they slowly work their way toward the end, Harry finds that the topic of their conversations slowly begin to change.

It starts with Louis asking innocent enough questions -- what timezone Harry lives in (an hour ahead of Louis' own), whether he lives in Canada or the United States ( _unfortunately_  Canada as Louis often jokes), and other little things to try and get to know Harry better.  Whenever Harry offers an answer, Louis gives one in return.  He's hesitant to answer the questions as they start to get to more sensitive topics (for Harry, at least), and when Louis senses it, he always changes the topic.  Even though they only converse via text and it's hard to convey emotion, Harry knows that Louis is always trying to make him happy.

And it works, because for the first time in a long time, Harry actually smiles.

* * *

It's Valentine's Day, and once again Harry is spending it alone.

Or at least, everyone  _thinks_ he is.  He hasn't told his family about Louis, because he knows they would never approve -- someone he met online? _He's probably a pedophile_ , they'd tell him.   _Don't trust him, Haz._ Not that he would listen to them if they did, but he wouldn't be as happy.  Louis is his own little secret, and he's just fine with that.  And even if there's a computer screen between himself and Louis, Louis is still his Valentine.  It's also the first time that they're going to Skype, and Harry fidgets in his chair as he logs in and waits for the call from Louis to pop up on the screen.  When it does, he quickly hits the  _accept_ button, and a full-out grin appears on his face when Louis appears.

"Hey, Haz!" 

For a moment, it feels like time has frozen.  Harry simply sits there, taking in Louis' appearance; dishevelled hair, scruffy chin, bright blue eyes and the most adorable and hopeful smile Harry has ever seen.  And Harry thinks he's never seen anything more beautiful than the boy sitting on the other side of the computer screen.  He feels ugly by comparison, and gently tugs on the sleeves of his long-sleeved tee to make sure his scars are covered even though his lower arms aren't even in the view of the camera.  Licking his lips, his cheeks turn a bright shade of red when he realizes Louis has repeated his name because Harry hasn't even returned the greeting.  He stutters on Louis' name when he apologizes, and he knows that if it's possible his cheeks have gotten redder.

But Louis is sitting there grinning practically from ear to ear, and he's quiet for a moment.  Harry shifts in his seat, finding he can't get comfortable because he's worried that this first impression, the  _real_ first impression that you can't get through text, is going to ruin Louis' opinion of him completely.  And all he wants is Louis' approval.  He just wants Louis to approve, to keep being his friend, because Louis is the only person that makes him happy and he doesn't even know it.  "You are cute when you're flustered," is all Louis says, and for a moment Harry can't breathe.

Louis said he's cute.   _Louis_ said he's cute.  Louis said he's _cute_.

 They spend hours talking about anything and everything, laughing over the silliest of things and getting emotional over their characters as they discuss the ending of their story.  They even send those silly Valentine's Cards to each other, and when Harry jokingly sends Louis one of Rachel McAdams as Regina George with the words "is dick a carb?" written on it, Louis' first response is, "Only if you swallow."  They both burst out laughing, unable to help themselves; Harry hadn't seen it coming at all, he'd just thought it was amusing when he sent it.

"Marry me," Harry says fondly, jokingly.  There's a smile on his face and a light in his eyes that hasn't been there in a long time.

"Only if you do it proper.  I'm a proper lady," Louis replies, a chuckle following his words.  Playing along, Harry gets down on one knee and adjusts the camera so he's still in the picture, then grabs his phone and sends Louis a text containing the emoji of a diamond ring.

"Marry me, Lou?"  He purposely tries to make himself sound hopeful, like he really wants Louis to say yes, because as much fun as he's having right now, Harry knows this is probably the only time he'll ever propose to anyone.

As if right on cue, Louis holds the phone up to his ring finger, and spends a moment examining it.  "It's a bit small, love, but I like it."  He pauses, turning his attention back to the computer screen, where Harry is, and he knows he probably looks far more hopeful than he should and Louis probably thinks it's weird, but he's beyond caring.  He just wants to have fun with this, and no matter what Louis says, they can laugh about it later.  "Of course I'll marry you."

For the first time in nineteen years, Harry has a Valentine on Valentine's Day.

* * *

Louis makes Harry feel like he's floating on clouds.  The change is subtle at first, but Louis has given Harry a reason to smile, to laugh, to get out of his room, to do things with his family, to participate in the real world again.  Harry isn't sure exactly why it is, but waking up to text messages from Louis every morning, wishing him a good morning and asking how he slept is enough to put him in a good mood for the rest of the day.  His family clearly notices the change, but chooses not to say anything about it -- they don't want to ruin whatever it is that's getting Harry back to the way he used to be.  He's finally eating properly again, and even starts going to the gym to start working out once he feels like he isn't going to collapse from exhaustion just walking up and down the stairs every day.

He and Louis talk from the moment he wakes up until the moment Louis goes to bed.  Louis has a weird sleeping schedule, in Harry's opinion, but Louis just blames it on the college life and tells Harry to get his shit together and go to bed at a decent time instead of four in the morning.  Those nights, Harry usually ends up sleeping until noon -- but it's not like he has anything better to do with his life at the moment, since he's only just started picking up the pieces.

When he's in better shape, he's going to get a job, he decides.  And then he'll get a passport, and he'll fly to where Louis lives, and they're going to live happily ever after.  Because that's what always happens in the stories, and Harry is positive that, this time, it's going to happen in real life.

* * *

He doesn't tell Louis that he's coming.  He just says he's going on a trip, and won't be able to talk for a few hours.  Louis takes it in stride, a text message containing a sad face and an  _'I'll miss you babe'_ being the last thing Harry sees before turning his phone off and going through the gate to catch his plane.  It takes Harry a while to find the university that Louis goes to, and perhaps even longer to find the dorm room that he resides in.  His heart is racing in his chest as he stands there, palms sweaty and tongue running across his lips as he contemplates turning around and heading home.  Louis never had to know that Harry was here, and they could just keep in contact through text and Skype -- that was all their relationship was, after all.  Something that was maintained by technology.  They'd talked about Harry visiting all the time, just so they could cuddle, or so Louis could introduce him to some sort of food his mom made and so Harry could cook for him because Louis was hopeless in the kitchen.  But it had never been a serious discussion; none of it had ever been serious.  They were just two boys, still trying to find their place in the world, and they were in love with the idea of being in love, not with each other.

But Harry had also spent months searching for a job, and had worked his ass off to get enough money to buy the passport that resides in the pocket inside his jacket and the plane ticket that brought him here.  This is all Harry has ever wanted, and he knows it -- but faced with the prospect of actually having it, with the fact Louis might take one look at him and tell him to go home, Harry suddenly isn't so sure.  But before he can back down and let his fears get the best of him, he raises his hand and knocks, his heart pounding in his ears as he waits for someone to answer.  It only takes a moment, and when Louis pulls open the door and their eyes lock, it's as if time is frozen, just like it was the first time they Skyped.  Only this moment unfreezes a lot faster, Louis throwing himself at Harry and wrapping his arms around his neck.  All Harry can do is drop his bag and wrap his arms around Louis' middle in return, and he can feel tears forming in his eyes because Louis is just as happy to see him, and really does want him here.

He's not used to feeling so wanted. 

* * *

For a month, one whole glorious month, Harry is happier than he's ever been.  He's practically glued to Louis' hip the entire time he's visiting, and it amazes him that Louis doesn't mind in the least.  Well, the only time Louis seems to mind is when Harry is woken from his slumber as Louis gets out of bed on weekday mornings to try and get ready for class and, in his sleepy state, Harry tries to pull Louis back into bed, so they can cuddle for just a little while longer before Louis absolutely has to leave.  Louis gives in the first time, and quickly learns that giving in is about as far from a good idea as he can get -- Harry never has any intention of ending any cuddling that gets started, and it isn't long before both of them fall back asleep, Harry's arms wrapped around the smaller boy protectively.

It's quite possibly the best month of Harry's life.  He's spending it with the only person he has ever loved with all of his heart, and who has loved him equally as much in return.  It doesn't phase Louis that Harry has such a troubling past, or that he used to hurt himself to try and make things better; he often kisses the scars on Harry's arms whenever Harry pulls off his sweater or long-sleeved tee and climbs into bed with him to cuddle.  There's no judging from Louis, and Harry is more grateful than he knows how to put into words.  

The day that Harry has to leave, there are more tears than he ever thought there would be.  Louis keeps trying to convince him to stay, to quit his job back home and find one here.  But Harry knows he can't do that, at least not yet, and it's with tears in his eyes and a heavy heart that he finally lets go of Louis, gives him a soft kiss on the lips, and tells him that he loves him and he'll be back before Louis knows it.  

Harry cries the entire flight home.

* * *

Harry doesn't know how it's possible to be so happy with someone like Louis.  Someone who he met online, who he only spoke to through text messaging and Skype calls for almost a year before finally getting enough money to fly down and visit him.  Before flying home knowing that he would do whatever it takes to get back to Louis, where he's happiest.  It takes a year to figure things out, after countless hours of searching online for jobs in Louis' hometown when there weren't any to be had, of searching for an apartment that was big enough for two people so that Louis could stay over if he wanted -- or even move in (which Harry secretly hoped he would).  A year of working his ass off to save up enough money for another flight down, for a down payment on an apartment, for groceries and other things he might need while he struggled to find a job to make ends meet.  Harry isn't quite sure how he managed to do it, but after a year he's finally got everything he needs, and he's on the first flight _home_.

Home is in Louis' arms, curled up in bed with the blanket wrapped comfortingly around them as they watch a movie, or talk.  Home is laying in bed, half asleep with an arm draped over Louis as Louis reads to him.  Home is lacing his fingers together with Louis as they walk down the street, taking a stroll through town.  It takes some time, but Harry realizes that home is not finding safety and solace in four walls around him and a roof over his head, but in a person that loves him unconditionally and with all that they are.

The only proper response that Harry can think of to finally finding his home, the love of his life, is to get down on one knee in front of Louis, and produce a box from his pocket. He opens the box, looking up at Louis with that same, childish hopefulness he'd found two Valentine's Days ago written across his face. And with the same fondness in his voice, with a hint of hopefulness for a future with the man that really did save his life, the curly-haired man asks, "Marry me?"


End file.
